The Night Had Eyes
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: The safe house is proving to be anything but. What was supposed to be a sanctuary might well be their tomb. Written for 2014 Halloween challenge. Warning: slightly slashy overtones


He felt as if he'd been driving his whole life. It didn't help that this little side trip had happened on the heels of a daring, and explosive, escape from their THRUSH captors.

Napoleon had managed a brief message to Headquarters before they were on the run again.

"Okay, according to what HQ told me, the safe house is right up ahead, one, one, six Sea Crest Way." Napoleon held the road map awkwardly, then turned it sideways. "At least I think it show be there."

"Finally." Illya tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He was feeling every inch of asphalt beneath their tires.

"Tired?" Napoleon reached out to squeeze a shoulder.

Illya permitted himself a weary smile. "Beyond that."

"I could have relieved you. You just needed to let me know."

Illya tossed his partner a sideways glance, first to lock eyes and then drop his gaze to Napoleon's handkerchief-wrapped hands. "Somehow, I think that would be even beyond you, my friend." He smiled and Napoleon nodded in agreement. "However, I appreciate the sentiment."

"Yes, well, you know what they say, it's the thought that counts."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better once we get off this road and rest for a bit. Okay, turn here and it should be on the left."

Illya braked and stared out at a house, the lawn thick and over-run with weeds. In the twilight, it had a slightly sinister took to it. "That's our safe house?" he asked in disbelief. "Business must be worse than I thought."

"That's the address they gave me. Hope this is just to deter folks and it's in better shape inside than out."

"We can only hope."

Illya parked the car just off the road and slowly climbed out. This part of the town must not have been incorporated as there were no sidewalks or street lights. His body ached from having been dangled by his hands for too long. He didn't need to look to know he had bruises decorating each wrist and his fingers felt swollen. Even so, he pushed the pain aside, consigning it to a small corner, and hurried around to help Napoleon. He'd borne the brunt of THRUSH's tender ministrations this time and was barely mobile.

"Sorry," he muttered as he failed at his attempt to move. The sheen of sweat on his face proved it wasn't from a lack of desire or effort on his part.

"It's fine, Napoleon. Let me help you." Illya swallowed his groan as he pulled his partner up and out of the vehicle, then permitted him to steady himself.

"Oh," Napoleon allowed himself that much of an admission of pain as Illya slipped his arm around Napoleon's waist to steady him. "The lengths I have to go to for a simple hug," he murmured as he draped his arm over Illya's shoulders.

"Blockhead," Illya muttered. He would like to have risked a fast, reassuring kiss, but not out here in the open and never on assignment. It had been their agreement with Waverly.

Together they moved up the sidewalk to the house, pain and exhaustion dogging their every step.

The house wasn't in as bad of shape as Illya feared. True, everything was covered with dust clothes and there was no electricity, but it beat sleeping in the car on a cold October night… barely The air inside the house was as cold and still as a crypt. That wasn't a thought Illya cherished; he'd spent too much time in crypts as it were.

He got Napoleon to the closest bedroom and settled him in a chair. "Sorry that there's nothing to eat," he said as he stripped and shook out the blanket and bedspread. He moved as quickly as he could to remake the bed. "There isn't any heat, so I think sleeping in our clothes would be wise."

"And convenient. I don't think I could get my pants off to save my soul."

Illya bit back a suggestive remark and helped Napoleon over to the bed, using his flashlight to show the way. "There you go. It isn't much, but at least there's nothing to worry about."

He watched Napoleon grimace as he stretched out. As if aware of Illya's worry, Napoleon managed a smile. "That's better, thanks. I'm just stiff from the car."

"Me, as well." Illya squeezed Napoleon's shoulder. "Get some rest. I'm going to check out the rest of the house and then I will join you."

"Illya, it's an UNCLE safe house. We will be fine."

"And I will be certain of that."

It didn't take Illya long to investigate the rest of the ranch-style home. There was something digging at the back of his neck, a sense that something was off. He made a circuit, checking the windows and testing the doors. He prowled, trying to find the source of his uneasiness, but finally retired to the bedroom, convincing himself it was a combination of exhaustion and leftover adrenaline.

Napoleon was sleeping soundly and Illya watched him for a long time. They were both slowing down and the sensibility of retiring field agents at forty was starting to make sense to him. It didn't mean they weren't still capable mentally, but physically, the years took their toll.

He pulled the threadbare curtains closed, shaking his head. They wouldn't do much good at stopping any sort of light. He took his place at Napoleon's side and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Napoleon's regular breathing calm him.

Insomnia was not something that Illya struggled with on a regular basis, but for some reason, he could not sleep. Yet he suddenly woke, unaware that he'd been asleep. At some point he'd turned over, his back now to his partner and there was a hand stroking his thigh in a highly suggestive nature.

Illya pushed it away gently, mindful of his partner's injuries. "No, Napoleon, we are still on a mission or have you forgotten our promise?"

The hand was back and squeezed hard. Rough play was not anything new. They were agents and both very competitive males. Often their lovemaking bore something more to a free-for-all wrestling match than passion. Even so, both of them knew how to respect boundaries or so he thought.

"I said, no." Illya let his temper flare. Napoleon's appetite was well known, but he usually could exercise control. He slapped the hand hard, the message clear. "Leave me alone!"

There was a low growl and Illya's eyes widened. From somewhere in the room he could hear a strange sound, like something half crawling, half dragging itself along toward him.

Illya shook his head to clear it of the sound, chastising himself for letting his imagination for taking flight. This was not a good thing for an UNCLE agent. They were prized for their lack of imagination at times like this.

Suddenly the hand was back. "Napoleon, stop." Illya winced as nails dug into his thigh muscle through the material of his pants. He struggled to sit up, but he felt pinning to the bed. There was a snarl and something grabbed his ankles, dragging him to the foot of the bed. Illya didn't know why, but he knew if that happened, it would be bad for him. Panic gave him the strength and freedom to move and he fought as in the only way he knew how, as a trained agent, with every fiber of his being.

Illya kicked and struggled, putting up a massive fight. He crawled back up the bed, only to be dragged down again. Again he kicked his way free and scrambled up to the head of the bed, finally turning to face his attacker. The bedroom door was open now, even though he knew that he'd closed and locked it. From the doorway, two large red eyes glared at him.

With a yell, Illya grabbed the nearest object, a lamp and threw it. It landed square between the red eyes and with a howl, they vanished.

Illya fought his way from the tangle of blankets and jumped from the bed. To his utter amazement, Napoleon was still soundly asleep on the other side of the bed. Illya limped around the bed and shook Napoleon's shoulder. The floor seemed to be shining with something wet in the feeble moonlight that got past the curtains. For a moment, he feared the worst.

"Go 'way, no one's home," Napoleon mumbled.

"Wake up, Napoleon, we are getting out of here. It's dangerous."

"Wha-?" Napoleon shifted. "What are you talking about?"

"We need to leave right now. I was just attacked."

"I don't understand. Who? How?"

"And I'm asking you to trust me without understanding me." Illya looked around. He could hear the peculiar half drag, half crawling noise again. This time it was from another part of the room.

"Okay." Napoleon sat up, still obviously more asleep than awake. "What's that noise?"

"The reason we need to leave." He dragged Napoleon to his feet and headed for the door. It slammed shut upon his approach. Adrenaline took over and two kicks took it from its feeble hinges and crashing out into the hallway.

"What's happening?" Napoleon shouted over the sound of doors opening and slamming shut as if in protest the treatment of their fellow door.

"Don't know, don't care." Illya felt as if his heart was being crushed within his chest and he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He yanked Napoleon towards the front door, oblivious of everything happening around them. For a moment he feared the door wouldn't open, but suddenly they were over the threshold and abruptly out into the night.

"What the hell is that?" Napoleon pointed and Illya reluctantly followed the point. From the room they had been in, two large red eyes glowed

"It's a solar flare." Illya pulled him towards the car. "Let's get out of here."

The tap on the window practically took Illya out of his skin. The day was dawning around them and Illya struggled to remember where he was and why. The windows were thick with condensation.

A second tap made him open the window slowly. There was a uniformed policemen standing there.

"Can I help you, officer?" Illya tried not to sound as bleary as he felt.

"We had word to be on the lookout for two wayward UNCLE agents. Now are you them or shall I arrest you for car theft?"

"You don't know how happy I am to see you," Illya muttered as he struggled into an upright position..

"I can tell." The cop looked past him. "Is your friend all right?"

"To be honest, we could both do with a hot shower and some medical attention."

"Why don't you follow me to the station? We could even throw in some pretty awful coffee.""

Illya nodded and got the car started. It was sluggish, but so was he. He felt as if he'd been dragged behind a train. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't ache.

"What's going on?" Napoleon asked, shifted up in his seat with more ease than Illya.

"We are being taken to the station."

"We're under arrest?"

"No, we are rescued."

The trip to the station was uneventful. As if by silent consent, neither UNCLE agent spoke about the evening before as they navigated the unfamiliar streets.

As they entered the police station, the officer pointed. "Go right through those doors and you'll be in the locker room. Go ahead and get out of those suits. We'll find something for you to wear. Showers will be at the other end."

"Thank you," Napoleon murmured and the cop turned to a man sitting behind a scarred desk.

"Hey, Sarge, give that UNCLE number a call and let them know we found their missing agents."

"Where did you find them?"

"Sitting outside Hell House."

"More balls than brains, then."

Illya listened to the exchange, but remained quiet, choosing instead to help Napoleon towards the locker room.

He lowered Napoleon to the bench and knelt to untie Napoleon's shoes with more energy than he felt.

"Illya, what the hell happened back there?"

"I have no idea." Illya looked up as the cop entered, carrying sweats and towels. "What did happen back there, Officer-?"

"Oh, Jake. Just call me Jake." He set stuff down and studied them. "Tell me you weren't in the house."

"We were." Illya frowned. "One, one, six Sea Crest Way is a designated UNCLE safe house."

"Maybe, but you were in one, one, six Sea Crest St. You would have had to go another block south." The man whistled. "You were in the house?"

"Yes?"

"And you made it out alive?"

"Apparently. Why?" Napoleon persisted even as Illya helped him strip to his underwear.

"We never really knew what happened. But decades ago, a family was slaughtered in that house. Ripped to pieces by who knows what or who. There was an escaped lunatic at the time and it was blamed on him, although he was never found. Whatever it was raped and then ripped the family apart, and then raped them again, according to the local legend. When the police showed up the day, the whole house was covered in blood and there were cryptic messages scrawled on the wall."

"Well, at least we missed that part," Illya said, sotto voce and Napoleon nodded.

"About four years later, another family moved in and the same thing happened. Entire family was killed. The last time about nearly ten years ago, the father and daughter made it out sort of, but the rest of the family wasn't as lucky. Neither of them were quite right after that. They kept telling a story about glowing red eyes and hearing something crawling around. The father said something grabbed him and tried to drag him off the bed. Since then everyone steers clear of it. The kids call it Hell House." The cop laughed. "Have you ever heard anything so crazy?"

Illya dropped his own pants, looking down at his thigh and at the five bright bruises forming there and at the bruises encircling each ankle. He shook his head slowly. "Never."


End file.
